


Sins Not Tragedies, or Men in Nooses

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: A 4th Wall Break-It, Alternate Universe - Crack, Everybody Lives, Except Probably Rogers, Gen, Not A Fix-It, Season/Series 03, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy, Eleanor, the gallows, and the dangers of historical accuracy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins Not Tragedies, or Men in Nooses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> So, uh, one of my favourite movies growing up was _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_ , and it SHOWS.

This is it. This is Billy’s moment, his big moment to stop being played and start being a player in his own right - and he’ll be damned if he lets anyone ruin it, be their name Flint, Rogers, or Vane.

 

So he shouts on top of his lungs: “Oi! Miss Big Bad Councilor! You can’t hang him!”

 

The force of the Eleanor Guthrie Stare can only be measured in Flints, so. What he is facing right now is a full Flint. “ _You_ are telling _me_ I can’t hang someone in my town, on my fu- fulgurous island?” The crowd rumbles. “Our island? England’s island?”

 

One out of three, tops. “I’ve got a book here that says Charles Vane doesn’t die until Wednesday, March 29, 1721. So unless those gallows of yours are secretly a time machine, Miss Guthrie, I suggest you stop disrupting the right and natural order of things.”

 

The crowd goes utterly silent.

 

Eleanor clears her throat, rustling some papers loudly. “I’ve got a f- _fantastic_ script here that says,” she raises her left hand, “Vane fangirls, five stages of denial, screeching and salty tears, followed by a nuclear explosion of misogyny in the fandom. This has been the countdown to the hanging, by the way. Hello?”

 

“And all those things are good... how, exactly?” No wonder Flint and Miss Guthrie used to be such great friends.

 

“Oh my fuzzy god, even a ’Vane Memorial Week’!” She makes a disgusted face. “But that’s how much you can’t pull your bullshit historical accuracy card on me.”

 

“Haters gonna hate?” Max whispers, perfectly audibly somehow.

 

“If you haven’t got any haters,” Eleanor declares, “you aren’t a main character.”

 

Max pauses to consider that.

 

Billy turns to the audience: “Shouldn’t we strive for _more_?” He glances back, catching Max’s eye. “More pirate ladies?” Max purses her lips in approval.

 

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “Fine, you’ve brought this on yourself. _My_ book says that you die of fright, a sad, pathetic alcoholic marked by your own black spot. How’s that for accuracy?”

 

“I bet… I bet you’re not even _in_ that book!”

 

Eleanor smirks. “Precisely. So nobody fundamentally knows when I fundraiser die.” More scripts are whipped out. “Don’t bother, it’s going to be a _long_ hiatus.”

 

Max tries to sneak a peek. “Is Max in this book?”

 

“That depends… are you Silver’s future wife?” Max stares at Eleanor. “I can sort of see it… as a marriage of convenience?” Max begins to edge away from her. “What? All the better to conveniently murder him in his sleep? Max?”

 

Billy’s last resort is: “I bet your Rogers isn’t even who he says he is! Can you _prove_ his identity?”

 

The crowd discusses this at length, splitting into factions like those from your average pirate ship. The Navy is curiously silent on the matter.

 

“It is true!” Rogers wheezes from the balcony, looking pale and wan like a stray Horseman of the Apocalypse. “All true! I was hired by the Spanish to recover their gold.” He looks around himself blearily. “But you cannot _prove_ anything because it’s your word against mine and-”

 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence.

 

“Thanks for the love.” Eleanor inspects her knuckles. Nobody has _seen_ her move. “We’re still hanging Vane, though… Shit, where’d he go? Wait! Get back here and get hanged like a civilised person!”

 

Billy, for his part, is too busy nearly tearing the pages out. “Me, an alcoholic,” he mutters under his breath. “Stranding Ben back there again!” Ben must never find out about this. _Never_.

 

“You know what they say about books?” Vane plucks it out of Billy’s grip and tears it in half with a casual air. “Me neither.”

 

“You aren’t angry?” Billy asks. “About your big exit getting cancelled?”

 

“About not dying, you mean? What am I, a tragic Flint? Speaking of which.” Vane fixes him with an intent look. “I have a very important question for you, Billy: how much do you know about teacups?”

 

Does he know who has been breaking those around their new headquarters? Well... “I might be able to remember a thing or two from my happy childhood.”

  
“Excellent!” Vane slings his arm around him. “You’re hired as my new tutor.”


End file.
